dinner?

She is walking down the hall away from me and I scream for her to wait but she doesn’t even turn back to look and I take the joint from the bedside table and put it to my lips. I hold it there for a moment, not inhaling, then I set it back down on the table, not in the ashtray and it rolls on to the floor. I watch it burn a tiny hole in the carpet before I lean over and pick it up. Meredith comes back with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a lime and a Corona in the other.

Do you have a knife?

I point to my jeans at the foot of the bed. Meredith takes a pocketknife with a serrated blade out of the back pocket and very quickly cuts the lime into six pieces. She winks at me and then leaves the room again then comes back with a container of margarita salt. She takes my hand and licks the space between my thumb and my pointer, shakes some salt onto the wet spot. The she does the same to herself. She sits down on the bed and puts the bottle of tequila between her legs and tries to open it with her unsalted hand.

Help me.

I take the tequila from between her legs with spilling a few of the large grains of salt off onto the bed sheets and use my salted hand and twist off the top with my unsalted one then offer her the bottle.

Thanks.

She takes a hit off the bottle makes a face puts the salt to her mouth and offers me the bottle. I take and take a hit lick my hand and set it on the floor by the bed. I concentrate my thoughts on the salt and tequila combination. I run my tongue roughly back and forth over the tips of my teeth, not hard enough to draw blood, just enough pressure to feel their sharpness. I close my eyes but I can hear the sound of her taking another hit and smell the tequila in the air.

Do want another?
I nod yes very slightly and shrug.
Give me your hand.

I hold out my hand and she licks it again this time slower. I can feel her looking at me but I don’t open my eyes until I smell the tequila next to my face. Meredith is leaned in close to me, our noses almost touching. She puts her mouth on mine and uses her tongue to part my lips then lets the liquid in her mouth flow into mine. It is sweet and warm on the back of my throat and I slowly swallow.
Meredith leans back sitting just below my stomach. She asks for the joint, which has gone out, and I relight, it take a drag and hand it to her. She takes a large drag and holds in the smoke until she starts coughing then hands it back to me. I carefully put it out in the ashtray then look at her face. Her head is tilted back, starring at some point past the ceiling, moving slightly to the easy listening jazz music that I can barely hear coming from the kitchen radio. Every few seconds her eyes flutter involuntarily from the dust coming down from the fan. Her top eyelids are coated in a very pale shimmering mint green eye shadow. She stays like that, sitting on top of me, making small slow up and down bounces. When a commercial comes on the radio I get up and go to the kitchen to turn it off. In the kitchen on the stove is a mostly-gone pot of spaghetti that Meredith cooked last week for dinner that I never showed up for. I turn off the radio and open the lid to the spaghetti. The smell is sweet at first and seems bearable but after only a moment it hits my stomach and I bend over retching and trying to clear my nasal passages. I take in a couple deep breaths but I don’t hold my breath when I stand up to replace the lid. I take out a plastic bag from under the sink and shake it open then quickly take off the lid again and put the whole pot into the bag upside-down. When I pull the pot back out some of the spaghetti has stuck to the bottom of the pot and it falls out in a rotten lump of putty. I drop the pan on my foot, the rim of the pot cuts into my skin and I fall over into the rotten spaghetti on the floor and get it all over my hands my chest my face my hair my underwear. I don’t yell, I take in several sharp breaths and hold my foot to try and stop the bleeding. I breathe in a lot of the vapors from the spaghetti and vomit several times. After I stop I run to the bathroom and jump into the shower then retch violently before I throw up again. I take off my briefs, soaking wet and still covered with spaghetti and drop them on the bottom of the tub where the blood from my foot is mixing with the water and spaghetti. Meredith comes in to the bathroom while I am scrubbing myself. There is water all over the floor because I didn’t draw the curtain. She squeals when she steps in the water on the floor.

What the fuck are you doing?

I am concentrated on scrubbing and mumble something about spaghetti. She walks over to the shower to draw the curtain.

DON’T COME OVER HERE!
You’re making a mess!
I’ll close it just get out! I push her hand away.
Just let me do it. She reaches again and I try to push her hand but lose balance and she tries to balance me but the smell off tequila on her breath makes my throat and stomach spasm and I fall hard out of the tub on to the tile. I bump my head on the tile. Meredith starts to help me up but drops me half way up.

I’ll go get ice! She runs into the kitchen and I hear her yelling but I can’t understand what she is saying.
YOUVREADLYGOTA- MAVIN!
WHAT?

She runs back in with a paper towel in one hand and cubes of ice in the other. She hands me the paper towel and I take it from her lying on my back on the floor and wipe my mouth with it.

No! Its for the ice, take it it’s cold!
I reach for the ice but drop most of the cubes on the floor. It’s really cold but I put it on the place where I bumped my head and it freeze-sticks to my skin.


At the bar or club or whatever wee are at called maybe the blue note or sort of blue or notes or whatever there are several large screen TV’s all synchronized to play the same image. First there is Trigun, followed by Cowboy Bebop, followed by Raxephon the movie, followed by what I think is either called something blue or maybe popstar, followed by Vampire Hunter D, followed by Big O, Followed by Lupin the third. While all this happens I walk through the club/bar and occasionally glance at the screens. I see three separate people wearing a vote for Pedro shirt and I yell to this heavy set guy with bleached-blond cornrows (why they let him in I can not figure out), I yell to him, scream in his ear that if I see one more vote for Pedro shirt I will kill the person wearing it. I look around and I do see another one and inside of it is the hot little body, firm breasts, tight ass, and she knows how to move. I walk over to her slowly trying to keep her in sight and when I get close I cut in front of the guy she is dancing with and lean in to whisper, or what counts as a whisper under the circumstances, in her ear (as if anyone could hear a whisper in this place).

I fucking hate your fucking shirt bitch.
Really I got it at mouthly fuzzticles.
What?
I got it at mount her femur.
Cool. Hip. (Mount her femur?)
Hip?
Yeah, cool. Chill?
Yeah. Chill. Thanks.

I start to sway seductively in time to the music and slowly take her drink out of her hand. I hold it to her mouth, teasing her, not letting her drink any of it. I do all of this in time to the music. When she reaches to take her glass back I stop dancing, down her drink (a shitty weak vodka cranberry) in one go, then hand her the empty glass and walk away.

I walk through the crowd of dancing people towards the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye I think I see Jason getting thrown out but the bouncers are also throwing out this semi-ugly girl who I don’t know. I go into the bathroom to take a piss and it was not Jason who was getting thrown out because the real Jason is in the bathroom taking a piss. There are five urinals it is only me and Jason in the room. He is using the urinal at the far end of the room and I go to the on right next to the door. The bathroom has twelve-foot ceilings and high above our heads are three small windows. Even though they are open all the way the air from outside barley reaches me. After I finish pissing I stand at the urinal trying to cool off. Jason leaves and doesn’t wash his hands or say anything to me. Two guys come in, one of them disgustingly queen-type-gay, the other one maybe gay but not in any threatening or offensive way. The queen type takes the urinal right next to me and the other guy takes the one that Jason was at. I wash my hands thoroughly. As I leave the bathroom I can hear them both giggle. I go back out onto the dance floor where I don’t dance but just roam. I see the girl I danced with earlier, she gives me a stare, I wave at her and grin. She looks confused then cautiously waves back. I give the finger to the guy she is with (a different version of the guy she was dancing with earlier) and he starts my way but I move quickly through the crowd to the bar order a double shot of whiskey then leave through the emergency exit, but no alarm goes off.

I walk through the alley and around the block to the front of the club where a girl dressed entirely in yellow is standing alone on the curb. Her mini-skirt, her halter-top, her hand-bag, and her high-heels are all a pale sun-shine yellow. She is facing me but she isn’t looking at me. Her hair is a very dark black that hangs straight below her shoulders with a clean diagonal of bangs in the front. One of her eyes is almost hidden behind her hair. I am about to walk over to her when a cab pulls up and she turns around. Three girls get out of the cab and one of them says something to the girl in yellow and the girls laugh (not the yellow girl, just the ones from the cab) and then go inside. Yellow doesn’t move or say anything the whole time and after the girls go in she looks at me then slowly opens her purse and takes out a cigarette.
I pull out my lighter and walk over to offer it to her. She doesn’t let me light her smoke but takes my lighter and starts to pocket the lighter but then looks up at me surprised and hands it back to me the way a child hands in a toy to a teacher. Standing as close as we are she seems younger than I first thought.

What did those girls say to you?
Which?
The ones in the cab. She looks around for a cab then takes a drag. Then takes another drag.

I don’t know who they are.
I don’t know them also.
Also?
Either, whatever, you sure are yellow.
That’s what they said. More. Or. Less.
Her lipstick is thankfully not yellow but a deep red. Not bright enough to be a whores make-up but dark and wet.

You don’t know them?
No.
Oh.

I stay standing there while she smokes her cigarette. We don’t say anything to each other and we don’t really pay any attention to each other. But there is no real reason to walk away.


…dairy gives me nightmares.
What?

She is only in her underwear and halter-top now. Not a g-string but plain white cotton panties, a size to small.

Like milk or cheese or you know. What else is dairy?
Yogurt. Crackers
That’s not dairy.
It is.
How is a cracker dairy?
Crackers and cheese.
The cheese is dairy.
Who eats crackers without cheese. They’re too dry.

Sara picks up an orange of her coffee table and throws it at me but it misses and hits the wall behind my head. I put down my book and pick up my beer off the table without looking at him. The bottle is still cold from being in the fridge and the green glass is covered in the mist of condensation. I rub the moisture from the label the way I saw either Kevin Costner or Bruce Willis wipe dirt from a label to reveal something important to the plot of a movie that I don’t remember except for that one part.

It’s not, fucking, dairy. And you owe me sixty dollars, US.

The more I think about the movie the less it seems real and the more it seems like a dream, or maybe I just saw a trailer and never the whole movie.

Sara’s yellow mini-skirt is hanging off the arm of the couch. I pick it up and smell it holding it against my nose then holding it up to the light. The skirt smells like bar and smoke, not like Sara. I toss the skirt back onto the arm of the couch but it slides off onto the floor. I am coming down from the coke I got from her earlier and...

On TV there are pictures of men fishing and sail boats fading into and out of each other. After several minutes of this the pictures change to jungle scenes then to mountains. Everest followed by K2 followed by the Alps? The mountains are all covered with snow and I know that they are huge but on TV they look small and insignificant. I think about how easy they look to climb on screen but I know I would die before getting even ten thousand miles up. I start to wonder what program I’m watching. I use the remote to turn up the sound but nothing changes. I turn the volume up all the way but the speakers only make that fuzzy sound that happens when they get turned up to high. I get up and look behind the TV. The speaker cables have been disconnected I plug them in and VER SEVETNY THOUSAND PEOPLE A YEAR ARE TRYING THE GRE. I slam the mute button then slowly turn the volume up. I look at the screen and the mountains are gone. In their place is a two-part diagram of a woman’s breasts growing. First they show a skinny New York model type girl then they slowly fade or time lapse or something until she has size D breasts. I turn off the TV and go into the kitchen. The tiles in the kitchen are sticky on my bare feet. Sara is “making” herself some ramen. She dumps all the water out of the pot then adds the packet of spice to the moist noodles.

You need to mop this place.
Why don’t you fucking mop.
I don’t live here.

Sara takes a half-gallon paper carton of milk out of her fridge and pours about a tablespoon into her bowl of ramen.

I’ll mop for sixty bucks.
Fuck off.

She takes her ramenmilkwhatever into the living room and turns the TV back on. I can her hear the sound of the breast infomercial and a man and woman talking excitedly then the noise-noise-noise-noise-noise of her changing channels. I put on my shoes then leave through the back door without slamming it.

In the park is a fake couple walking slowly away from a photographer who is giving them instructions.
Walk slowly. Now put your heads together. Now embrace tightly. Tighter. Tighter! That’s good. No, hold it and keep it tight. Ok… there good. Now walk back towards me. Slowly. Slowly. Yes happy faces. Remember you’re in love.
Both the man and the woman are wearing pastel colored polo shirts and sweaters tied loosely around their necks. They walk back towards the photographer. Then walk away from him again turning to look back at the camera and smile. Then they walk across the camera so that they can be shot from the side. After the walking they sit down on a rail and struggle to balance themselves while more pictures are taken.

Relax. You both need to relax and look natural. Ok, I need a kiss.

The couple kisses without hesitation and the photographer snaps a couple quick pictures.

Relax.

They kiss again but the woman loses her balance and starts to fall back wards. The man doesn’t try to help her at all but gets off the rail and backs away from her hand when she reaches to steady her self. The woman falls backwards and lands on her back. She stays on her back, perfectly still for what seems like a long time and neither the man or the photographer say anything. The man looks up at the sky and the photographer checks his watch. The woman finally gets up on her own and climbs back over the railing.

I’m fine, really. I’m fine.

The man looks at her like he had forgotten she was there then the photographer changes his lense and says something about ‘wardrobe’ and ‘typical’ and ‘model’ and ‘lush’ without ever looking at her.

I walk past a memorial towards “non-violence” with lots of small wooden crosses and a banner that reads “Just one week!” Two kids run up and start pulling the crosses out of the ground. A woman who I assume to be their mother, although she could be their baby-sitter runs up and starts slapping their hands until they stop crying and drop the crosses. The woman has slender, tanned, toned legs coming out of tight white canvas shorts that barley go past her crotch. When she bends over to pick up the crosses I can clearly her lace panties and the skin of her ass is tight over firm muscle. She quickly tries to re-plant them but most of them fall over again and she and the two kids hurry away without meeting my eyes.

My parent’s house, where I am supposed to have dinner tonight, is empty. Stuck to the fridge door with a PTA magnet is a printed piece of paper with three lists.



Dad:
Tiger Woods
Weather
Baseball
NY Yankees
Gas prices

Mom:
Vogue
Mademoiselle
Art Forum
Harper’ Bazzar
The Garden

Lisa:
Justin Timberlake
MTV (not VH1)
Simon
America’s next top model
Real World or the Inferno

I read this and can recognize most of the things on the list except Simon (from American Idol?) but I have no idea what any of it means. I read the paper over and over and after the second time I don’t want to stay for dinner or read the paper any more because it starts to give me a headache. After reading it five or six times I am really just staring at it but I can’t look away. My mom comes into the kitchen from the garage but I don’t look at her until she speaks.

Oh Bear, you’re here… you’re early.

She is carrying two grocery bags, brown paper because she won’t use plastic even though the paper ones don’t have handles. A box of cake mix falls out of the top of one of the sacks. She tries to pick it up without putting down the sacks but drops one of them reaching for the box of cake mix. Two oranges roll out of the sack and under the table. I start to get very nervous but feel better once she puts down the other sack on the table. She leaves the sack she dropped on the floor and I can see that it is filled with only oranges.

How are you darling?
I hate that name.
But you’re my Darling bear
It’s for a child.
How are you bear?
I’m fine, I say sighing.
Good. That’s good. Your father and I worry.
I’m sure he does.
He does.
What’s with the oranges.
Guess what we’re having for dinner.

I don’t say anything. She looks at face and she look interested-worried-nervous while I don’t say anything for two minutes.

How are you bear? Oranges?
I can’t stay for dinner. I have…something…I have to…do.
Bear darling, of course you can stay for dinner. What possible couldn’t wait an hour or two?

I have to go. I start to get up and she looks around the kitchen for something then sees the sack on the floor and I think I can hear her whisper the word oranges but it’s so quiet that I’m not sure and I move towards the door.

Bear darling.
DON’T FUCKING CALL ME BEAR!!! I scream this then pause. And say it again in an apathetically hip voice. Don’t cal me bear.

OK Bea…, but don’t swear. It’s impolite. She says last part so softly that I can barley hear her and I have to struggle to not yell at her to talk louder. Her face goes hollow and she starts to pick the oranges up off the floor.

You’ll never guess what I was making for dinner.
I’m going.
I lean into kiss her but she looks so pathetic that I can’t and just freeze, my lips an inch from her face. I turn to leave and she doesn’t move, only closes her eyes and I don’t look back at the house as I walk to the nearest intersection and hail a cab.


Downtown I am walking along the sidewalk and everyone in the city seems to bee walking down the same sidewalk going the other way. I bump into an old lady with a walker and she stumbles. My cell phone chirps three times and I take it out and read a text from Christy.

Where r u?

I have forgotten that I promised to meet her for coffee at Cosi. I am only a few blocks away so I text her back and start walking back the other way.

Im rit outsid.

Im siting at the wndow, I know ur not here!!!!!!!

I don’t bother to answer, just start moving faster through the crowd. Even though I am going the opposite way than before the entire city is still going the opposite way. I bump into… I don’t know how many people and when I get to Cosi I am sweating. Christy is sitting by the window and I try to just walk by but she sees me and follows me with her entire head. Her sunglass, tinted too dark even to be worn outside watch me walk past the door then give in and walk back to the door and go inside. When I get inside I pretend to look around for a minute then pretend to spot her and walk over to her table.

Did they move the entrance to this place? I ask lamely.
You forgot didn’t you?
No, I’m sure the entrance was on the corner before.
That’s not what I meant.
I check my watch casually but don’t comment on the time.
I’m certain the entrance used to be somewhere else.
I look around the café to emphasize my confusion. She isn’t buying so I try to switch subjects.

Did you order?
You do this every time.
Something is different here.

I look around the café again this time scanning the people inside. My eyes stop on a blonde who looks disturbingly like Christy. She follows my gaze and when she sees the girl she adjusts her sunglasses then sighs twice, loudly, and stares at me until I look at her.

Something’s different here, I say again.
No, everything’s the same as it is every time.

Christy picks up her glass of iced tea and doesn’t take a drink then sets it back on the table between us. On the table is a menu with edges that are starting to fray badly enough that most of the information for the last item is missing. I stare at the menu reading the price of extra cream seventeen times before Christy says anything.

What are we doing here?
You picked this place.

I don’t look up but I can see her body shift out of the corner of my eye. I look at the anti-Christy then I look at Christy’s legs. Her calves are well defined, muscular and tight underneath her jeans.

Have you been working out? This comes out more like an accusation and less disinterested than I was going for.
Everything is the same as it is every time.
Have you been working out. I ask again this time sounding completely unconcerned about the answer or even getting an answer. I look at the menu again. I notice a ring on the table from a glass that I didn’t notice before.

Do you listen to anything I say? Do you even listen to anything you say?
I don’t know what you mean by that. I don’t know what you mean.
Quit saying everything twice!

I look out the window and start to ask her if she has been working out but only open my mouth then close it angain and look at anti-Christy’s legs which are not as nice as Christy’s.

How’ve you been Christy?
I’m leaving.
Wait. Christy. How’ve you been? I just want to talk.
No you don’t.
Yes I do, I’m talking now aren’t I?
This isn’t talking. This is…
Then what is it? I’m talking.
I thought we had something to talk about but we don’t. I thought we could have an adult conversation but see just can’t do it can you. Christy gets up and starts to leave
I can. I have plenty to say.
What? She pauses, I guess for drama. What do you have to say?
Well… I… How are you?

Christy pulls some money out of her purse and puts it on the table. Before I can think of anything to say she is out the door. I start to get up and go after her but signal the waiter and order an iced vanilla milk instead.